


Dark and Full of Wonder

by guiltyhousewife



Category: Aladdin (1992), Aladdin: The Animated Series
Genre: Angst, Bondage, Gags, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mental Instability, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Groping, Past Rape/Non-con, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sex, Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:08:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26591923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guiltyhousewife/pseuds/guiltyhousewife
Summary: A sequel to my Mozenrath/Aladdin story, "It's Not As If", found here:https://archiveofourown.org/works/17890106Taking requests again!Plot: Mozenrath finally finds some rest.
Relationships: Aladdin/Mozenrath (Disney)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 23





	Dark and Full of Wonder

The dark above him was luxurious and full of wonder.

He knew by heart, as any man does of his own bedroom, what accounted for the darker shadows on his walls and ceilings. Ornate tapestries depicting morbid and beautiful scenes padded the cold stone of the walls, while a deep indigo satin swooped in inky arcs against his impossibly high ceilings, those dark vaults that echoed and created whispers.

The balcony to his left provided some moonlight, open as it was to admit the night air. The lonely desert winds howled bitterly and provided a white noise that lulled Mozenrath in his bed.

He both loved and hated the cold – loved how clean, how impeccable it was, how it preserved his experiments and warranted his many protective layers of clothing. He hated it at night, when alone and thin, he tossed in his bed fighting the cold in order to rest.

But his bedmate, a dying sun beside him, warmed him to his core and he felt sure that tonight, tonight he would truly sleep.

But before that, the temptation of his bedmate must be dealt with.

He took the boy hours ago, of course, as evidenced by the stark white stains he’d have to get his undead servants to tend to in the morning (no more physical labor for his boy), and even though the heat, the press, the weight of the body next to him stirred his cock, he ignored it for now in pleasant, sleepy contemplation.

First, the hair.

He shifted closer to the bound body next to him, shelled his body in from behind. Those hands, tied behind his boy as they were, grazed his belly, as he took a loose fistful of that black hair, lost to his greedy eyes in the dark. A small huff of air from his partner’s nose confirmed that his partner was still awake, but no matter. He’d say nothing.

He brought his face close, and inhaled deeply.

Sun. Sun and sand and wind and all the heat and convection of living was wrapped up in the boy’s scent. He once read, in his endless studying, of pheromones, and believed it to be true, as something of his boy’s smell, even of his fearful sweat, stirred in him an appreciation and lust that left him breathless.

His hair betrayed him, betrayed the tight, hard body it capped. It was beyond soft, and he played with it for a moment in his hand, smoothing it, carding it, tugging experimentally on it (another huff of air from his clenched partner).

He left it, lingering on his fingertips, and slid across a damp cheek to a slick lower lip, spread wide and tight by the phallic gag that stopped his mouth. He could handle the crying (he remembers, with a shudder, when the boy broke and finally cried, how pinpoint brilliant his delight was) but the pleas annoyed him, fought the image of the proud hero in chains he had before him, so he stoppered him. Besides, he thought with a smile, running his fingertip back and forth over that tightly stretched lip, he’d have to learn to take him in his mouth soon. Yes, he was truly training a proper bed slave.

Across a strong jaw down a tense neck – yes, when he first forced the faux-phallus deep within his mouth, the boy heaved his body upward in a bow, fighting as the unyielding object violently triggered gagging. He had calmed since then, and was learning to control his breathing out of pure survival instinct. Mozenrath knew that the wetness on his cheeks were tears, but the boy didn’t allow himself to cry so as not to smother himself. Smart.

The throat convulsed under his lazy exploration, and he left it behind, travelling across his chest to skim across and linger to play with nipples hardened by the cold air and earlier bruising (the rate of those panted breaths increased), before skimming down to span across a hard stomach, an abdomen carved with muscle Mozenrath would never own except now, in his hands.

He shifted on the bed, then shifted his hands moving now to his partner's back. Each pack of muscles moved under his hands as he travelled over them, and he switched to massaging that back lightly (the boy’s breathing became erratic; he risked breathing all together) to get him to calm down. The bound body in his hands tried to arch away from him, especially when his fingers grazed those angular hips.

Was he ticklish? He grazed again, purposefully, and the skin in his hands jumped miserably, so he deduced it must be so. He did it again, a little viciously, and then completely on impulse, not knowing himself fully why, bit down on the shoulder trying to inch away from his embrace.

A keening noise from his companion, and mouth full of firm, unyielding flesh, Mozenrath tasted sweat and fear. He clenched with his teeth, then left it, leaving the gentle kiss of his lips on the mark he was sure would reveal itself in the morning.

His hands continued, his eyes lulling closed.

His fingers found the entrance he had so proudly claimed before, and the body jumped on the mattress, only stilling when Mozenrath twisted his bound arms further away from his body. A whine, then no movement as Mozenrath’s fingers teased and testing the quivering opening, slick and softened, he had so come to know so intimately.

He abandoned it, took in one sure, slow grasp his partner’s soft cock in his hand. He enjoyed weight of it, enjoyed the heft, enjoyed the velveteen head and slight suggestion of veins and the choke his partner gave at the touch.

He left it, and instead used both his hands to spread those tawny legs. The choked sob was premature; all he did was slide his legs in the space he created, further closing the distance between their bodies.

Cock against his ass, nose in his hair, Mozenrath felt like maybe, maybe he was in love.

He wouldn’t know. He couldn’t know, at least not now, but again maybe this boy, this fallen hero could teach him. He himself would have to learn again with princess and friends dead.

He would not kiss him goodnight, but he would throw his arm possessively around those slim hips and fall asleep smiling, sure, for the first time in his life, that he would not be alone when he awoke, that the bound body of Aladdin would be there to greet him in the morning.


End file.
